You're in the past. I know that. During the day, you hardly cross my mind. The little things that used to make my heart drop and chest tighten are essentially gone. It doesn't matter. And when they do somehow creep up on me, they're fleeting. They come for a quick second but then leave and return to where they belong.

But it's a different story when I'm sleeping.

When I'm sleeping, I'm vulnerable. Weak. Helpless. You show up, and I can't do anything about it. You smile at me like nothing has ever happened between us. You reach your hand out and whisper words that I thought had forgotten. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, I never know what to do.

We go to places together. The sceneries are all too familiar, but they aren't anywhere I recognize. Though strangely enough, they feel so nostalgic. Maybe they're places we could have gone together. Would have gone together. Your hand feels so secure intertwined with mine. The warm air teases my long hair, and I look up to my left, and there you are. You give me that crooked smile asking me what's wrong.

And I wake up.

My mind is confused. It takes a minute for my brain to readjust to the new reality I find myself in. I blink. My heart reminisces for a few seconds of your laughter. Your voice. Your touches. But the thing is, it doesn't linger. It doesn't stay. Just like resurfaced memories that come and go, in a flash, it's gone.

And the day goes on.